


through the darkness, in love with not knowing

by kalachuchi



Category: YHNEXT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 03:39:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14127270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalachuchi/pseuds/kalachuchi
Summary: Six weeks before filming is scheduled to begin, Chengcheng gets another tattoo.





	through the darkness, in love with not knowing

**Author's Note:**

> title from wendy xu & nick sturm's _i was not even born when you dreamt of open water_ : 'we are fish with light / in our skin! we swim through the darkness in love / with not knowing.'

Six weeks before filming is scheduled to begin, Chengcheng gets another tattoo.

Justin goes with him this time, to a parlor neither of them have tried before but Justin swears is worth the extra half hour on the bus. Chengcheng has no idea how Justin knows this but doesn’t think to question it either, accustomed to ignoring common sense hissing at the back of his brain that _no, Justin definitely shouldn’t know any of this._

Common sense sounds a lot like Zhengting in Chengcheng’s head. Chengcheng doesn’t think about that for very long either.

Justin nudges him, and they get off at a bus stop on an unfamiliar street, on the opposite side of the river from any of the buildings Chengcheng’s learned to recognise in Seoul. Chengcheng leans into Justin as they walk, and Justin snorts as he unwraps his muffler to wind around both of them instead.

The muffler smells less like Justin and more like the same fabric softener everyone uses at the dorm, originally Wenjun’s and now communal property. _Cause your stuff smells nicest,_ Zeren reasoned, clutching Wenjun’s laundry basket with the same delicacy Chengcheng’s seen his sister use when cradling small children. Wenjun had rolled his eyes, said _It’s supposed to smell like freesias,_ and allowed Zeren to add his clothes alongside Wenjun’s laundry.

“Hey,” Justin says. “I totally forgot to ask before, but–what’re you thinking of getting?”

Chengcheng blinks at him and sticks out his hand.

Justin ignores this. “Tattoo, I mean.”

Rolling his sleeve up his arm, Chengcheng waves his hand in front of Justin’s face and eyes him expectantly. The cold air stings his skin, but Chengcheng knows it’ll sting more later. It makes the discomfort more bearable, knowing it’s temporary, even if Chengcheng also knows what replaces it will hurt more.

“Here,” Chengcheng says.

“Woah,” Justin inspects Chengcheng’s wrist anyway, skin unmarked for now. “Won’t it hurt?”

“It’ll hurt anywhere.”

Justin raises an eyebrow. _“Anywhere?”_

“Don’t be gross,” Chengcheng says, but he’s smiling.

 

A windchime sounds as they step inside the parlor, and Chengcheng thinks of another tattoo parlor a river and an hour away while waiting to be called up. The place Zhengting got his tattoo at blasted bubblegum pop from speakers scattered throughout the parlor, and close enough to the company that Zhengting could’ve easily dropped by to pick Chengcheng up after his first tattoo.

He didn’t though, sitting by Chengcheng’s side the whole time, spilling stories about the guys from before Chengcheng started at the company. And Chengcheng knows Zhengting’s friends with all the employees, has known them longer than he’s known Chengcheng probably, but Zhengting still introduced them to Chengcheng first instead of the other way around, a hand winding into the hair at Chengcheng’s nape and wheezing when they called Chengcheng quiet. _Just you wait,_ he’d said, _you say that now but just you wait._

Looking back at it now, it was pretty weird of Zhengting to say–as if the opinion of tattoo parlor employees would add any weight on Chengcheng’s shoulders. He wonders what Zhengting would say now, Chengcheng walking to a cordoned off section at the back, smirking a bit at Justin’s face paling at the prospect of hanging out in the waiting room by himself.

Actually, Zhengting’s probably still at the company, practicing. Chengcheng won’t have to think about anything like forgiveness or permission until way later. Not that Chengcheng is doing anything wrong. Chengcheng knows this. He knows.  


His hand twinges on the walk back to the bus stop, as Chengcheng predicted. Chengcheng’s side aches for a second, the tattoo pulsing, phantom pain of an old scar responding to the fresh wound at his wrist.

“Hands,” Chengcheng says finally. “I got a tattoo of hands.”

“It looks really good,” Justin offers. This is a lie. Chengcheng’s skin hates getting inked, red and smarting until he showers and wipes the tattoo down.

Dryly, Chengcheng says, “Let’s pray it stays that way, then.”

“Oh, that’s it–praying. The design, I mean. Like hands praying.”

“Something like that,” Chengcheng agrees.

It’s not the complete reasoning for the design, but explaining requires answering questions Justin hasn’t yet thought to ask Chengcheng, so Chengcheng doesn’t.

 

Back at the dorm, Zeren finds them in the kitchen.

“Dude,” Zeren breathes, inspecting Chengcheng’s hand. He sounds impressed. “Zhengting-gē’s gonna lose it.”

Taking stock of the fridge’s contents, Justin says, “Like Gēgē’s gonna do anything.”

Zeren: “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Justin makes a vague hand motion, the milk carton in his hand sloshing. He doesn’t elaborate any further.

Justin continues, “Never mind Zhengting-gē, though–how are you gonna hide it from the teachers.”

“Oh.” Chengcheng hadn’t considered this.

“You didn’t tell him this on the way there,” Zeren says, letting go of Chengcheng’s hand to swing Justin into a headlock.

“Dude,” Justin whines, “watch my milk.”

Xinchun pokes his head into the room. “I can cover your hand with concealer in the mornings? Quanzhe bought the wrong shade, but you should be fine.” He pauses. “What am I trying to cover up?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Chengcheng argues. His hand smarts at the thought.

Actually, he hasn’t showered and wiped it down yet. It really is hurting.

Darting past Xinchun, Quanzhe stops right in front of Chengcheng.

“Wenjun-gē said you got a tattoo,” Quanzhe says in a rush, peering down at Chengcheng’s sleeve-covered hand without making a move to touch.

“How does Wenjun,” Chengcheng begins, as Xinchun reaches over Quanzhe to grab Chengcheng’s wrist, shaking Chengcheng’s sleeve to free his hand. Nodding, Xinchun mutters, “Concealer,” before adding, fondly, "Dummy."

 _“No,”_ Chengcheng argues.

From the living room, Wenjun’s voice: “Ah, gē! You’re back early.”

The kitchen crowd disperses. Justin drapes himself over Chengcheng’s side, overly casual. It hides the tattoo well enough, but Chengcheng shrugs him off.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Chengcheng mumbles.

Then Zhengting says, voice sharp, “Who says you did?”

 

* * *

  

The tattoo was something Chengcheng didn’t mean to learn about.

Zhengting didn’t seem particularly phased at Chengcheng eyeing it–maybe everyone else already knew. Maybe Zhengting just didn’t mind who saw it. Chengcheng is barely two months into his arrival in Korea and all he knows for certain about Zhu Zhengting are that he’s a lot louder than he looks, and that he is consistently first to arrive and last to leave the practice rooms.

Sprawled on the floor, Zhengting says, “Did you want something?”

“No,” Chengcheng starts, then stops. He’s not sure what made him stop to watch Zhengting’s late night solo practice. It occurs to him he doesn’t really need a reason for being here. Being here is something he’s allowed, and that knowledge alone is enough, a welcome burden.

“Alright.” Zhengting lets out a breath. Closes his eyes.

Ink curls along Zhengting’s hip, visible through the gap between Zhengting’s shirt and sweats, stark against the lean definition Zhengting’s figure cuts from the ground. He’s breathing hard, inhales shallow and exhales too fast.

Chengcheng asks without thinking: “What are you trying to prove?”

Zhengting’s exhales still, forcibly settling.

“What is anyone here trying to prove,” Zhengting counters. He doesn’t open his eyes.

 _You can’t prove anything to anyone if no one else is around to see it,_ Chengcheng thinks. Out loud, he says, “Nothing, if you’re too worn out to keep going.”

A beat passes. Chengcheng’s shoulders slide up, but he doesn’t walk away.

Zhengting’s lips quirk up.

“Fair enough,” Zhengting says. Then: “So what are you still doing here, gē?”

“You’re older.” Chengcheng frowns.

Breathy laughter. “Is that what you were staring so hard to figure out?”

“Huh? No, but.” Chengcheng pauses again, and Zhengting picks up in the space Chengcheng leaves.

“I can show you where I got it, if you want.”

Zhengting sits up, starts packing up his things. It doesn’t feel like he’s waiting for an answer, but Chengcheng doesn’t think the offer was ingenuine.

“Sure,” Chengcheng says.

He doesn’t know what he wants, not yet. But he doesn’t _not_ want this, either.

Zhengting grins at him. His eyes are bright against the exhaustion on his face. “Alright, then.”

 

* * *

 

When Zhengting leads him away Justin tags along, carrying milk and snacks summoned from his pockets, until they reach the bathroom and Zhengting promptly boots him out.

“Everyone, Gēgē is playing _favourites_ ,” Justin sings, letting himself be kicked out.

Turning back to Chengcheng, Zhengting makes a face. “Did you see him? He was going to eat in here! The _bathroom_. Unacceptable.”

“You snack while hanging up the laundry,” Chengcheng points out. Zhengting shrugs. “I don’t get anything on your clothes. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Chengcheng laughs.

Zhengting smiles. The lighting makes his eyes shine behind his glasses.

“C’mere,” Zhengting says, “you haven’t showered yet, right?”

“Are you asking to shower together,” Chengcheng says, “because you can just ask, you know.”

Zhengting, already leading Chengcheng to the sink and rolling up Chengcheng’s sleeve, startles.

“What–that’s–I’m _trying_ to _take care_ of you.”

“Mm-hm.”

Zhengting huffs, blows hair away from his face. Chengcheng tucks his head along the curve of Zhengting’s shoulder, letting Zhengting wash the tattoo. The water is warm, nearly scalding. Zhengting keeps feigning bluster but his hands are gentle as they soap and rinse.

“I like it,” Zhengting says, a minute later.

Chengcheng doesn’t protest this time. “I do, too.”

“I like it,” Zhengting says again, more seriously. Chengcheng swallows. Looking up from the sink, Zhengting meets Chengcheng’s eyes in the mirror.

In that same grave tone, Zhengting continues, “The guys think you’re really cool, you know.”

“Probably,” Chengcheng agrees. Arching his eyebrows, Chengcheng adds, “But we say this about you, too.”

“I resent that,” Zhengting sniffs. He reaches for a hand towel and slowly pats Chengcheng’s hand dry. Chengcheng doesn’t move even after Zhengting finishes, thinking. Zhengting waits him out, humming softly, melody unrecognisable and slightly off-tune.

 

After a while, Chengcheng says, “Hey, Zhengzheng, you buy clothes a size up, right?”

Zhengting holds the note he’s humming, _mmmmm,_ and bobs his head.

“Okay, noted.”

Delighted, Zhengting asks, “Gonna disguise yourself with sweater paws?”

“You’re not cute,” Chengcheng informs him. He puffs his cheeks out before giving in. “But alright, sure.”

Zhengting drapes himself over Chengcheng from behind as they walk out of the bathroom. Chengcheng’s taller, which complicates things, but he walks half a beat slower than he normally does as compensation.  


Justin’s leaning against the wall outside the bathroom.

“Hey,” he says. Zhengting missteps, narrowly avoiding the pile of snack wrappers Justin had stacked beside him. Justin kicks at Zhengting, who dodges.

“Don’t eat on the floor,” Zhengting tells him.

Justin snorts. “Stop kicking at the young ones.”

“Were you waiting the whole time,” Chengcheng interrupts.

“Disgusting,” Zhengting hisses.

Standing up, Justin hands Chengcheng a handful of candy from his pocket, sticking his tongue out at Zhengting.

“I’m always this nice, actually.”

Zhengting scrunches his face. He hasn’t let go of Chengcheng yet, so Chengcheng hauls Justin closer, too.

 _“Chengcheng,”_ Justin whines. Chengcheng ignores him, and they all start shuffling awkwardly back towards the living room. “What are we doing,” Zhengting yells.

“You can let go if you want,” Chengcheng says, and he means it.

He’ll just keep pushing them along until they do.

**Author's Note:**

> chengcheng's tattoo along his side/under his arm remains a mystery, but you can see his hand has a praying hands tattoo when iqiyi doesn't blur it out....... same hat re: zhengting's hip tattoo [thinking face emoji] some points were made.


End file.
